The morning light in the Command Tier was artificial—a soft, simulated dawn that bled from recessed panels in the sandstone ceiling. It caught the silver glint of the collar around Sofia's neck as she sat on the edge of the massive bed, her bare feet buried in the plush fur rug.
Talisa was already gone. Her side of the bed was cold, leaving only the lingering scent of cedar and the ghost of the possessive warmth from the night before.
A quiet chime echoed, and the heavy door slid open. A girl stepped in, looking no older than eighteen. She wore the grey, belted tunic of the domestic staff, her hair pulled into a tight, severe bun. She carried a tray of steaming porridge and a bundle of dark, high-quality fabric.
"Good morning," the girl said, her voice small and disciplined. She kept her eyes lowered as she set the tray on a low table. "I am Anna. The Commander has ordered me to help you prepare for breakfast. She is already in the strategy hall."
The New UniformSofia stood, her petite frame shivering slightly in the climate-controlled air. She looked toward the chair where her old emerald sweater sat—the one piece of home she had left—but Anna quickly intercepted her gaze.
"Not that one, Miss," Anna whispered, her voice tinged with a strange, nervous reverence. "The Commander was very specific about your appearance today."
Anna stepped closer to begin the ritual of dressing. She was young, perhaps even younger than Jess, but her hands were steady as she helped Sofia into a high-collared tunic of charcoal silk. It was cinched at the waist with a leather belt embossed with the Rebellion's gear. The fabric was cool and expensive, a sharp contrast to the grit of the subway tunnels.
As Anna fastened the small silver buttons at Sofia's wrists, her fingers brushed against the girl's skin. Anna's breath hitched. She felt the "Influence"—the soft, golden hum of Sofia's presence—and her eyes widened. She had heard the rumors of a "Saint" brought in from the Pit, but she hadn't expected someone so... delicate.
The Silent CuriosityAnna worked in a focused silence, her curiosity burning behind her eyes, though she didn't dare ask the questions she wanted to. She didn't ask how a girl like this survived the Dead Zones, or why the Commander had put a paralyzing collar on someone who looked like she couldn't hurt a bird.
"The Commander prefers the braid tight, Miss," Anna said, moving behind Sofia to redo the hair Talisa had handled the night before.
Sofia looked at her reflection in the polished metal mirror. The charcoal silk made her eyes look like deep sapphires, and the silver band at her throat looked like a piece of high-born jewelry rather than a leash.
"Is my sister... is Jess eating too?" Sofia asked, her voice a soft, melodic chime.
Anna's hands faltered for a fraction of a second. She looked at Sofia through the mirror, seeing the raw worry in the girl's expression.
"The recruits eat in the Lower Mess at first light, Miss," Anna murmured. "If she was assigned to the 3rd Barracks, she will be there. They are kept busy with drills, but they are fed well."
"Is she safe?" Sofia pressed, turning slightly.
Anna finished the braid and stepped back, smoothing the front of Sofia's silk tunic. She looked at the girl and felt a sudden, sharp pang of sympathy. Anna had lived in this mountain since she was a child; she knew the difference between a guest and a prize.
"In the Command Tier, you are under the Commander's shadow, Miss," Anna whispered, leaning in just enough so the wall-mics wouldn't pick it up. "That is the safest place to be. As long as you stay close to her and do as she says, your sister will be fine. The Commander... she hasn't looked at anyone the way she looks at you in a long time."
The Commander's ShadowAnna picked up the small, black device Talisa had left on the vanity—the remote for the collar—and held it out on a silk cloth.
"You must take this to her, Miss," Anna instructed. "She expects it to be returned to her hand before you leave the room."
Sofia took the cold plastic device, her thumb hovering over the red button that could freeze her own limbs. She felt the weight of her new life—the silk, the silver, and the silent expectations of an eighteen-year-old maid who looked at her like she was a ghost.
As Anna opened the heavy blast doors to lead her out, Sofia caught a final glimpse of her old emerald sweater. It looked small and discarded in the corner of the grand room. She turned away, following the young maid into the cold, brightly lit hallway where the Lioness was waiting to show her new assistant to the world.